


Merry Christmas, Darlin'

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Cute, Fluff, For RDRSecret Santa, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: The gang throws a Christmas party for Jack and Arthur is waiting on a special someone to arrive.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/SO of choice
Kudos: 54





	Merry Christmas, Darlin'

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story and would like to see art to go with it, you can find me on tumblr @finefeatheredcowboy

Miss Grimshaw was handling the candles, and the tree. The gang was all planning on gathering tonight, beneath the stars, Reverend Swanson with his hymnal full of Christmas songs and Javier with his guitar. Abigail had spent the better part of the day with Tilly popping popcorn over Mr. Pearson’s cook fire and stringing the pieces along on thread stolen from the local general store by Mary Beth’s talented fingers. Mary Beth herself was busy sewing stockings – both those to wear and those to stuff with candy and fruit, and Karen was mixing a batch of particularly stout eggnog.

Hosea raised a hand in greeting as he and Bill set the tree they had chosen down, quickly working to tack boards to its base to hold it upright as it was decorated.

“Got the candles there, Miss Grimshaw?” Hosea asked in a friendly tone, knowing the answer already.

“You just run along and get yourself some cocoa, Mr. Matthews, I’ll take care of the decorations,” she assured him.

“John still in town distracting Jack?” Abigail asked in a careful tone as Charles sauntered past, chewing on a piece of taffy he had either bought or pilfered from somewhere.

“Last I saw. He hadn’t managed to get either of them lost or eaten yet, as far as I can tell,” the big outlaw chuckled. Abigail scoffed, but the way pink rose in her cheeks suggested to everyone present that John’s working to ensure that Jack had an actual Christmas might have warmed her toward him again.

Dutch and Molly sat, largely useless, giggling and flirting with one another in their tent, but Dutch had, at least, changed his phonograph to play instrumental Christmas music, so the camp was lively as they waited for the guest of honor to arrive.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Pearson called as he gave the large turkey on the spit another half turn. He snuck a peak at Dutch and, seeing that the persnickety man wasn’t looking, he dashed seasoning on the bird like a madman while he had the opportunity. Dutch had once described vanilla custard as “too spicy” and imperiously dictated seasonings in Pearson’s cooking whenever the opportunity arose, much to the chagrin of the rest of the gang, who suffered through barely salted meals with pitying looks in Pearson’s direction.

“Where on Earth is Arthur? He’s supposed to be here, bringing the gifts!” Karen squawked. There was a sudden uneasy silence that fell over the camp, stilling the threading of popcorn, peppering of turkey and lighting of candles. They gave each other a nervous look.

“You don’t reckon he got picked up, do you?” Bill asked, voicing the concern they were all thinking.

“I can go out looking for him,” Charles offered, on his feet and bow in hand in an instant.

“Now, now, gentlemen, our Mr. Morgan can take care of himself. That new horse he’s got is wily. Probably giving him issues. Give him another few minutes, then we’ll go lookin’,” Hosea assured them, ever the voice of reason. “Some of us are planning on arriving later in the evening, anyway.”

“Well, so long as Arthur beats John and Jack here with the gifts, we’ll be fine,” Abigail added, to shatter the sudden lull in activity. Pearson began to hum “Oh Tanenbaum,” which drew Dutch’s attention as the others continued their work around the camp.

“Mr. Pearson, that had better not be pepper I see in your hand!”

“Jesus Christ, Dutch, give it a rest. If I have to eat another bland meal thanks to your delicate sensibilities, I’ll choke,” Bill griped, cursing and sucking his thumb when he burnt his hand on one of the candles he was helping Miss Grimshaw place toward the top of their Christmas tree.

Dutch grumbled something under his breath, but let the matter go when Molly tugged him back down onto their cot with a cackle, murmuring something in his ear that made him smirk and tug one of his tent flaps down lower.

The camp stayed abuzz with activity, decorating and cooking and preparing for John and Jack’s arrival, and the arrival of evening with them.

“GODDAMNIT not again!” came Arthur’s voice nearby, just after a solid _thud_. His buckskin stallion stepped into the clearing, Arthur rubbing his forehead and clenching a red Christmas hat in his fist where it had been knocked from his head by a tree branch and his horse’s intentional bunny hop. A red lump was rising just below his hairline, and Arthur looked like he was timorously clinging to his last nerve, but he had beaten John and Jack to camp with a hefty bag of gifts on the back of his horse. “He don’t mind the bag, but he damn near killed me six times over this godforsaken hat,” he griped, tossing it on the ground and resisting the urge to stamp on it. His horse beat him to it, grabbing it in its front teeth and launching it in an arc through the air. Nearly twenty sets of eyes followed it as it flew up, up, up and then descended in a flutter to land atop the Christmas tree, barely missing a candle.

“Boah,” Arthur mumbled, but he patted the big unruly horse, who whickered and stole a sugar cube out of Arthur’s pocket.

“Well. Isn’t that pretty?” Abigail said dryly as she looked where the hat had landed, but her eyes were twinkling. She walked over and kissed Arthur gently on the cheek. “Thank you, Arthur. I’m sure the boy will love all of this, your last minute decoration included,” she laughed. Arthur sheepishly rubbed the lump on his head again and accepted cocoa laced with whisky from Karen.

“Here they come!” Charles warned as John rode into camp with Jack sitting in his lap.

“Presents!” Jack declared.

“That’s right boy, and most of ‘em for you. Here, let me get you down. Don’t fall, now,” John warned him, helping Jack down before he stepped off his horse and approached Abigail shyly, unsure, as usual, where he stood with her. “Er, uh, hey beautiful.”

“You stop that, John Marston,” she scolded, but she didn’t pull away when he grabbed her waist.

“Hey, come ‘ere,” he ordered, holding something up that he had been hiding behind his back.

“Mistletoe?! You dog!” Protesting by pushing on John’s chest, Abigail pretended she wasn’t going to let him kiss her on the cheek, but at the last moment she turned her face so his lips instead pressed against her own, surprising him. “Merry Christmas,” she said, meeting his eyes with an unreadable emotion on her face.

Arthur watched the scene with a bittersweet expression, but he turned away, mild amusement flitting across his features as Jack tore open presents, finding with delight several Penny Dreadful books and a few toys. Still holding a handful of snow to the welt that had risen on his forehead, Arthur searched the tree line every once in a while, eyes sharp in the gathering darkness of the evening, lit by several wood fires around the sprawling camp. He was just about to call it a night when he heard something.

Turning to the sound of snow crunching behind him, he spotted its source, his face lighting up and the weight of the world seeming to fall from his shoulders.

“There you are,” he greeted, reaching in his pocket and holding out a small parcel, a huge smile breaking across his handsome features. “Thought you might be a little late. Merry Christmas, darlin’.”


End file.
